13 — The Return of Merratoni’s Top Healer

13 — The Return of Merratoni’s Top Healer

I yawned. “Now, this feels nostalgic.”

I got up, did my stretches and magic exercises, then slowly opened the door. My master towered nearby in all his intimidating glory.

“What are you doing?”

He clicked his tongue in frustration. “Thought I’d catch you slacking. Good. C’mon, we’ve got laps to do. Go all out, full-on Physical Enhancement.”

“Yes, sir!”

And so we ran, and ran, and ran some more. When I’d watched runners on TV in my past life, I’d never understood what it was that drove them, why simply watching them could stir some sort of feeling in others. Now I thought I finally got it. At least somewhat. It was because they believed their efforts and struggles had a purpose, that by demolishing the walls that held them back, they’d find something beyond that. Because although our experiences are ultimately our own, that special something that stirs when seeing another give themselves entirely to a passion exists in all of us, and it yearns to be free.

“Swing those arms! Raise those legs! Forget doubts! Forget limits! Show me what you’re made of, and be the man who spits on talent!”

I made it through my master’s training and wanted to keep moving forward. I punctuated that resolve by tearing through Gulgar’s breakfast.

It was delicious.

It didn’t take long for my team and Forêt Noire to reach the three-story clinic. It was just as large, if not larger, than the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Are all clinics this big?” I asked. “Do they keep inpatients?”

“This one’s definitely bigger than what I’m used to,” Jord replied. “Apparently, the third floor’s the director’s living quarters, second floor’s for the slaves and healers, and the first is where the treatment rooms are. And the mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries? Clinics hire soldiers?”

“I can’t say they all do, but most probably have guards of some kind.”

“Most, huh?” I echoed quietly.

“No one would do a runner these days, but there used to be lots of people who’d only partially pay their bill to avoid the criminal charge on their cards. Clinics never stopped being paranoid, even after things changed.”

Suddenly I could imagine the kinds of ruffians who might have led the healers down their current path. This called for some adjustments to the guidelines for sure.

“Anyway, let’s get going.”

I opened the door and immediately heard shouting.

“Hold on, Master Bottaculli! The healers will be with you soon!”

Before I could process even the slightest feeling of shock, I saw a man, an adventurer or mercenary perhaps, come stumbling down the stairs carrying someone on his back. He hurried through a door labeled “Examination Room” without sparing us so much as a glance.

“Keep him alive! He hasn’t paid us for the month yet!” a shout echoed from within. No reply came, and the voice grew more impatient. “You call yourselves healers?! It’s just a damn dagger wound! If you can’t heal it, bring some medicine or something, I don’t care what!”

Bottaculli’s cut must have been deep.

“Well, a life’s a life. Can’t just ignore one,” I said. “Jord, come with me.”

“Understood. I can’t tell if we have good or bad timing here.”

“I’d like to think good. Palaragus, Piaza, stay with us. Everyone else, stand by outside the clinic.”

I barged into the examination room and nearly staggered against the thick tension in the air. All eyes fell on me, but I ignored them and proceeded to the bed where Bottaculli lay. His robe was stained crimson, but the wound wasn’t actually all that life-threatening, so I cast Heal just to stabilize him. The blood loss had turned his complexion pale, and he seemed to be barely conscious.

I looked around the room, considering what to make of this situation, and noticed three men who looked like healers staring at me.

“Is there something on my face? Oh, right, introductions. I’m Luciel, the healer from Headquarters who’s supposed to start studying here.”

“Um, is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll live, but he needs to stay in bed. I want to know how he was injured.”

The mercenary who’d carried Bottaculli down answered, “A butler attacked him out of nowhere. One of his most trusted.”

“A slave did this? To his master?”

“Forget that. Did you heal him or not? It looks like he’s still in pain.”

I could have easily fixed that, but wanted to hear the full story first. “Like I said, he’ll live. Now, I want to know what happened in detail.”

The man glared at me, then sighed in resignation. “There are lots of slaves here, but Mister Bottaculli trusted his butler the most. The guy took a knife and ran it straight through his gut.”

He reaped what he sowed, as far as I was concerned. People could only endure a lack of human decency for so long. Maybe there was more to this slavery system than I understood, but none of that had anything to do with me or my life.

“And what happened to the slave?”

“See for yourself.”

I was surprised to hear they hadn’t killed him.

“He’s alive, but I dunno for how much longer,” another merc said.

Right on cue, bustling noises came from outside the room, and a second man was carried inside. He was probably the butler, based on his tailcoat, but I found it hard to believe that such a gentle-looking person could have stabbed anyone. The half-dead lump of flesh wheezed, likely pained from the aftereffects of harming his master, or possibly from a beating. He had one foot in the grave, and most healers would have given up on him, but I knew that I could save him with just a single Middle Heal.

“I doubt he’ll try to run at this point, so don’t interfere,” I instructed the two men.

I healed the steward while the guards shouted in protest, but Piaza and Palaragus’s presence gave me peace of mind. Meanwhile, Bottaculli’s healers were trying every spell at their disposal to relieve the grimace on their boss’s face. They’d find no use for their healing magic in fixing whatever ailed him, though. Not even their Cure spells had any effect.

I moved to check on him one more time, then saw a barricade of frightened people forming just outside the room. More slaves, I figured.

“Are you the one who healed me?” a voice asked from below.

The butler had made a full recovery. The mercenaries erupted into noise, demanding the criminal’s head, until I firmly quieted them down.

“I’m Luciel, an S-rank healer. I was supposed to be working with you all starting today. Your master’s life is safe.”

“No, you can’t be here with him. You must stay away. Whatever your motives, your mere presence is a hazard to his health.”

“Glad to see you’re lucid. Mind if I ask some questions?”

“Anything.”

“First of all, why did you stab him? If I hadn’t been here, he could have died.” It hadn’t actually been that serious. I had to hear his motive, though.

“For peace,” he answered calmly. “The only solace for a slave is in death, and I believed that by bringing my master with me, I could be free of all the pain and hatred I’ve suffered.”

The placidness in his voice didn’t sit right with me. Something was off here.

“Healer!” a man interrupted. “You’re supposed to be the best of the best. When’s he gonna wake up? Can’t you do something?”

“Yeah, we need to get paid before he croaks, dammit!” another said, impatiently drawing his sword.

Their complaints, although morbidly justified, went in one ear and out the other. There were too many things about this incident that I had to get straight, and I couldn’t get my mind off what Galba had told me yesterday. What was the barricade for? Had someone planned all this, knowing I’d be here? Bottaculli’s healers seemed, to be blunt, strangely incompetent. And then there were the mercenaries.

“Okay, that’s enough. Put that away,” I said firmly. “You were supposed to be Bottaculli’s guards, right? At his side at all times? I want to know how no one stopped this from happening.”

Had they just sat there and watched? Had they trusted the steward that much?

“Mister Luciel,” Jord interjected, “over at the barricade... I think those are slaves.”

I darted over to look out at them but couldn’t tell one way or the other. “I don’t see any collars. You’re sure they’re slaves?”

“Uh, what era do you think this is?” he laughed. “People bound to servitude are marked in all kinds of ways, but these days they’re branded with a magic crest on their back, neck, or the left side of their chest.”

“I had no idea. Do you know what kinds of effects the crest has?”

“It depends on the grade. There are crests of absolute binding, physical binding, and minor binding.”

I hadn’t expected such a detailed answer. How did he know so much? He couldn’t have owned slaves, although I had no basis for assuming that. If the levels of the crests had distinctions, maybe there was a way to undo them, and maybe Jord could tell me.

“I take it they’re what keep the slaves from having free will.”

“They don’t quite rob them of free will, per se. Absolute binding prevents them from disobeying orders and slowly stunts their emotions over time. Physical binding causes the bearer to feel extreme pain when they try to act on their own. With those two types, you can also give orders for what they’re to do after you die.”

I felt utterly disgusted and was overcome by a strong desire to never be a slave. “So, you can force them to die with you or pass them to someone else who might be able to free them.”

“Right. Minor binding does control through pain but leaves the bearer relatively free, aside from a few things. They can’t harm their master, can’t commit suicide, and can’t be more than a kilometer from their master without feeling extreme pain. If the master dies, the slave is free.”

The butler’s expression never changed, like this information was common knowledge to him. I was even more confused about how he’d managed to hurt his master now.

“What about other kinds of slaves? Like petty criminals, debtors, lawbreakers, or prisoners of war? Are they branded too?”

“Yes. It’s up to the slaver’s discretion. Minor offenses only get minor bindings, while others vary depending on the parties involved. Slavers who bind willy-nilly are subject to divine punishment and aren’t allowed to trade.”

Jord’s vast knowledge shocked me. “You sure seem to know a lot about this.”

“Er, I guess. Kind of.”

“Let me get one thing straight. Can someone bound by a crest physically attack their master?”

“No. These crests are a kind of curse and just as absolute.”

I took it he hadn’t meant “curse” in the metaphorical sense. I locked eyes with the butler. “Is that true? Were you prepared to throw your life away?”

“I...I don’t know how to answer you.” He hesitated. “A life with no hope of freedom isn’t a life worth living. There was nothing to throw away.”

I could believe that as a motive but not as the element that had given him the ability to put the knife in his master. The man’s eyes were empty, devoid of hope. And someone who’d given up on everything had no reason to hide anything. Maybe if I removed his crest, he’d tell me how this had all started. Then again, some people could be stubborn.

“I see. Well, tell me something. Say you were freed from your pact... Would you give up on killing Bottaculli?”

“The misery he made my life, I...I could never forget. But at this point, I don’t think I can bear to even look at him. All I want is to get away from here. Far away.”

“Do you think the other slaves feel the same?”

“Yes, I do. We’re treated like animals.” Grief filled his eyes with the kind of pain that no amount of magic would ever be able to heal. All of a sudden, I was keenly aware of the limits of my abilities.

“Then what do you say to making a deal with me? Fair warning: I’m not liable for the damages if you break your word.”

“What are you asking?”

“I’m asking if you want to be free. Oh, you know what, we need the other slaves here too.”

“You can’t be...”

“I am. Bring them all here.”

The butler blinked at me for a few seconds, my words slowly sinking in. Once they finally did, he dashed off and shouted throughout the estate for his fellow slaves to join us.

“Sir, you sure this is all right?” Jord asked with an uncertain lilt to his voice.

“Probably not, but I’m not about to let this nonsense continue. Worst case, I’ll have to compensate Bottaculli.” I turned to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Er, I think we’re all worried about the same thing.”

The others nodded.

“I know what I’m getting into.” I was glad Shurule had no system of slavery in place; or rather, I was glad I’d lived a privileged life away from its ill effects. That disconnect surely played no small part in my reaction to what I was witnessing.

The steward quickly returned with over a dozen others.

“All right. Piaza, Jord, could you run to the Healer’s Guild and bring the guildmaster? And anyone else with authority.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sure thing.”

I watched them leave, then looked over the crowd of servants. “Thank you, everyone. Could you all please come here? You can trust me.” They cautiously stepped closer, the butler leading them. “Okay, listen up. If you were all given a second chance at life, could you live it without looking for revenge against your former master?”

Everyone nodded and agreed.

“Good. I’m going to have you all form a contract with me before I free you, understand?”

They nodded again. No one looked remotely dubious about my offer. Whether that was because I was an S-rank healer or because they were just that desperate was hard to say.

I looked down at Bottaculli’s ghostly white face. “Did you hear all that? Bottaculli the healer, your life is going to come at a price. If you want me to save you from your suffering, relinquish these people from theirs. Transfer their ownership to the Healer’s Guild. Do you swear to these terms?”

“I...swear!” the healer groaned.

His body shone for a moment, signifying the completion of our contract. In return, I cast High Heal, Purification, Recover, and Dispel in sequence, and the color returned to his face.

“You are all witnesses,” I announced to the healers and mercenaries present.

They nodded repeatedly. Thankfully, they’d been listening and didn’t need me to explain anything. All that was left to do was wait for Kururu. In the meantime, I had to find out how the butler had overridden the binding of his crest.

“So, how did you hurt your master? You couldn’t have done that while under your pact, right? How did you manage it?” I asked him.

“I’m unable to answer with the details, but someone overwrote my curse with another one entirely.”

Then there was a third party involved. Most likely the same person Galba was after and who Bottaculli himself had been afraid of.

“I’m going to ask you a few more questions. Answer me clearly and concisely.”

“As best I can.”

“When did you accept the new curse?”

“Just recently.”

“Was the caster someone you knew?”

“No. I met them while out on orders to run errands.”

“Where did you meet?”

“On my way back, just after finishing my business. They called out to me.”

“And that’s when they told you about it?”

“Yes. We spoke of almost nothing else. I took the curse knowing full well what it would do.”

“Do you know what their goal was?”

“I didn’t ask, but I vaguely recall them mentioning disgust with how slaves are treated. Although it seemed like they had a personal grudge against Master Bottaculli.”

“Hmm. How did they apply the curse to you, and what did they ask for in exchange?”

“I don’t know how they did it. They simply cast it, then vanished into darkness.”

A regular person? Vanishing into darkness? Not likely. Only assassins were allowed to melt into the shadows, as far as I was concerned. No wonder Brod and Galba hadn’t picked up their trail yet.

“Do you think they called you over knowing that you were a slave?”

“Yes. I remember being surprised that they knew. It was night at the time.”

Too dark to notice any crests. Brod and Galba needed to hear this. “Do you remember anything else? Anything at all?”

“Very little. I think...” The butler strained his memory. “I think the person’s voice was rather high-pitched. Almost womanly.”

This culprit of ours was clearly up to something. I got the feeling they weren’t overwriting slaves’ pacts just to watch the fireworks, but whatever their intentions were, it was beyond me.

Just then, Kururu burst into the clinic. “Mister Luciel, what in the world is going on?”

“Sorry for calling you here so suddenly. Here I was, ready to study the workings of a clinic, when I saw Bottaculli being carried down the stairs with a knife wound in his gut,” I explained.

“Yes, I heard everything from the knights, but what are you doing freeing the slaves all of a sudden? Wait, before anything, how is Mister Bottaculli?”

“I’ve healed him. He’s fine, just in shock right now. I had him transfer ownership of his slaves to the Healer’s Guild as compensation.”

“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Sure do.”

Healer’s Guilds within the Republic of Saint Shurule were forbidden to own slaves. Guilds found with any in their possession were forced to free them, and I was rather proud of the idea that handy little rule had given me.

“I know you can’t just let criminal slaves run free, so I’ll leave them to the guild,” I said. “They could always be sent back with Bottaculli.” And they’d live happily ever after. Yeah, right.

“How are we planning on removing their crests?” Kururu asked.

“Leave that to me.” I was confident I could manage it with the Illusion Staff.

“So, I’m a slave driver? Is that what you called me here for?”

“Of course not. I want you to search Bottaculli’s quarters with his steward here for proof of corruption. I wasn’t planning on starting the investigation just yet, but hey, this is a good opportunity to do some correctional work. Can I count on you guys?”

Kururu’s face twisted into a stiff, nervous smile. “Wow, you’re brutal.”

I hesitated for a moment and considered if I was taking things too far, but only for a moment.

“Please, it’s my job to make things right. The way healers think about their occupation is going to change one way or another once my guidelines pass, so I might as well use this situation as a test run.”

“I’m all for dealing with troublemakers, but I’d like to avoid ruling with an iron fist, you know?”

“I don’t intend to. I was never planning on making this much of a fuss here, but...well, the pieces fell where they did.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “Investigate. Got it. Just so you know, I’ve never done this before, so I’ll need some helping hands.”

I was glad I’d convinced her. “Right. I heard there was some kind of defunct investigative committee at the guild when I first registered, but that’s probably going to change in the future as we start rebuilding our image. There’s going to be a lot more of this kind of thing.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Mister S-rank, sir.”

“Er, can you please talk to me like you normally do? You are a guildmaster. The formalities are unnecessary.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, let’s get to it.”

The healers and guards could only stand there and watch as the search was carried out. We quickly discovered that all but two of Bottaculli’s servants had been enslaved against their will.

“Sorry for the wait, everyone,” I called out to the group. “I’m going to dispel your crests now, so gather round!”

I tried a Purification spell first, to no avail, then Dispel, and that did the trick. One after another, I removed the curses from all twenty or so slaves, except for the aforementioned two, after being sure to form contracts with each of them.

“I expect you all to uphold our deal. You’re to leave this place and bring no harm to Bottaculli. You’ll each be given ten silver to start new lives. If you need somewhere to go, I recommend the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Luciel, we have a problem,” Kururu said, carrying over a stack of parchment just as I finished handing out the money.

I looked them over. “It’s a list of Illumasian slavers and buyers.”

“Look at them all. All these adventurers and citizens, sold to the Empire against their will by their own healers.”

I said nothing. There were easily over a hundred pages. I barged into the examination room where Bottaculli was sitting up, now awake.

“How does it feel?” he said languidly. “Did you enjoy trading my life for my wealth? If so, then you and I are not so different, oh great S-ranker.” The venom in his words abruptly died as they left his soulless body. He seemed to have aged an eternity.

“I saved you because it was my duty, not to steal from you,” I shot back. “I’m not interested in your fortune. I know you might think you’re the victim here, but you brought this on yourself.”

He glared at me. My team readied themselves, but I had them stand down. “I should have been done with you when I had the chance. Well? What words do you have for me? Seeing as you’re S-rank, I’m obliged to listen, Sir Healer.”

“I want to know how this started,” I demanded. “Why are you working with Illumasian slavers? Why are you stealing people’s lives? People who came to you for help?”

Bottaculli crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and said nothing.

“The documents aren’t lying! You’re buying and selling people for dirt cheap!” I shouted. “You used to be a good man, Bottaculli. A genuine healer. How did this happen?”

After a moment of silence, he said, “I’ve long forgotten.”

“Don’t try that with me. Do you want me to bind you to another contract? Or do I need to order you to fess up by authority of the pope herself?”

“It was...” He strained to speak. “It was for my daughter. I thought healers could cure anything, everything, but disease is beyond even our hands. After I lost my wife, my girl was all I had left, and the Illumasian Empire made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. They said they could save her.”

“In exchange for selling your patients as slaves.”

I couldn’t fault him as a parent for being willing to do anything for his child, but had it never occurred to him that the people he was hurting had families of their own? Maybe even kids?

“Where is your daughter now?” I’d found no evidence of children around the estate.

“I haven’t seen her in over ten years. She lives in Illumasia and takes care of servants, so I hear. That’s why I needed more. I have to get her back.”

“Ten years? It never occurred to you in all that time that what you were doing was wrong?” Silence. “I sympathize with you and your daughter. I can understand your position as a parent. But why would you hand her over to the empire? You surely had other options. You could have turned to Headquarters or a Doctor’s Guild.”

“If I could brew elixirs, don’t you think I would have? And the doctors of this country are washed up. I had none of the options you say I had. But the empire... When I heard they had what I needed, I didn’t hesitate. I knew it was wrong, but there was nothing I could do, I tell you.”

I pitied him. I really did. But the moment he knew he’d crossed a line, he should have ended it there.

“Listen, Bottaculli, I won’t sugarcoat things. The people you ruined had families just like you. And what about your daughter? What would she think about all of this? Has it ever crossed your mind that they’ve been playing you for a fool?”

He hung his head. It never came back up. I didn’t want to kick him while he was down, but the man had gone too far. I couldn’t let him off.

“By order of the Healer’s Guild, you are hereby forbidden from taking your own life. Your valuables are to be sold off and the Church will decide further punishment. Your clinic will be repossessed by the guild and repurposed into an orphanage.”

“What?! A-An orphanage?”

“That’s right. That said, the lack of a clinic could be an issue for some, so it will still function as one in some capacity. They’ll be expecting you in the Holy City, Bottaculli.”

He grimaced. “I won’t let this stand.”

“I need two knights and one of my healers to accompany him, please.”

The miserable man shuffled outside without a single glance back at me. I started to compose a letter to Her Holiness, then remembered my arclink crystal and contacted her immediately. After explaining the situation, she entrusted the matter to me.

With that out of the way, I spoke to the butler one last time.

“So, about the curse caster. Do you remember anything about their build?”

The former slave looked baffled. “A caster, sir? I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’ve given me my life back and I want to assist you however I can, but there are limits to my knowledge.”

“You know, the curse that overwrote your crest. We were just talking about it.”

“Sir, is such a thing even possible?”

“What? Jord, I’m not crazy, right? You remember us talking about curses before, don’t you?”

“When did that happen?” he replied. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

I blinked in shock. No one else in my unit knew what I was talking about either. Could there have been a demon in our midst? I cast Purification around us just to be safe, but no one seemed averse to it.

At a loss, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to convene with Galba and my master before anything would make sense. Before I could begin the investigation, though, there was the matter of Bottaculli’s subsidiary clinics. Ultimately, we decided to enforce the guidelines on them early, as a sort of trial run, although it would severely limit the free time I’d have to spend at the Adventurer’s Guild outside of lunch breaks.

As I toured the city’s clinics, I found out just how bad things had gotten. Most had prices twice as high as what the guidelines called for, with the worst as high as four times the acceptable amount. To help things along, I had the new prices posted publicly at the Adventurer’s and Healer’s Guilds. Merratoni was going to be my first step in making this profession respected again.

Nearly all of Bottaculli’s former slaves had sturdy builds, so some left to become adventurers while others stayed to work at the orphanage. The few lawbreakers that we couldn’t set free ended up at the Adventurer’s Guild doing odd jobs, thanks to Gulgar and Galba offering to take them in.

The audits proceeded, days passed, and I found myself learning a lot about how clinics worked along the way.

One day, I had the free time to stop by the Adventurer’s Guild, and Nanaella grabbed my attention just as I came in.

“Luciel, you mentioned wanting a haircut a while ago. Still need one?”

“Actually, yeah. I remember telling you how annoying it is having it this long. I’m used to having it tied up, I guess, but I really prefer it shorter.”

“Why don’t we head to the back and take care of that now?” Monica offered, urging me forward.

We stepped out into the back garden with the well.

“Feels like it’s been forever since I came out here. Also, is it just me or are you weirdly excited about this, Monica?” I was too shy to continue with that train of thought, so I changed the subject. “Hey, remember that time you guys cut me while doing this?”

Years ago, during one of my first haircuts, I’d put my faith in them and had been betrayed. What I had thought would be a gentle and careful affair had turned into them getting a little too riled up and accidentally nicking my cheek. There was no lasting damage—all it took was one little Heal to fix it up—but from then on those two had been extra cautious with scissors around my head.

“Oh, come on, that was forever ago,” Monica huffed. “Now, what style are we thinking?”

“Same as always is fine,” I said.

“What if we got a little adventurous?” Nanaella asked hopefully.

“As long as I can still show my face in public. I’m trusting you two, okay?”

Their grins grew even wider.

“Hear that, Nanaella? We got permission.”

“Wanna chop off half from each side?”

“Yeah, let’s get the length nice and even.”

I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way out now.

The ceremonial cutting of the ponytail soon ended. Jord and the others got a good laugh out of seeing my new look but didn’t forget to bug me about introducing them to the girls. In my irritation, I told them it wasn’t happening until they could land a hit on Brod (spoiler: none of them would).

My team and I quickly came to be known by a new name in the time that passed: The Order of Healing. The adventurers, meanwhile—curse them and their traditions—had taken to calling us the Order of Horror from the shadows.

As our work continued, it became increasingly clear that the Healer’s Guild and its clinics were severely lacking, so I started cycling my healers through them to help get things on the right track. Eventually, I began to follow the guidelines myself and offered my healing at the proper rates, making exceptions for children and the elderly, of course.

The days flew by, and the day where I would have to return to the Holy City drew nearer.

The dining hall was closed—a strange occurrence indeed for the Adventurer’s Guild. Brod, Gulgar, Galba, and I sat inside sharing drinks. Of the alcoholic variety, for once.

“Damn, you got guilds and clinics figured out fast,” my master commented. “Where to next? Yenice? Rebuildin’ a guild from scratch doesn’t sound easy.”

“I agree. But I’ll try to hang in there with Gulgar’s recipes and Galba’s intel.”

“You always have a place to come back to if you need it. We’ll be here to help, as long as you’re not sticking your nose in something bad. Not that I think you ever would.” Galba’s eyes were warm and trusting. “You might make mistakes, but stay on the right path.”

“I know. I always say I’ll do anything to survive, but I’d never want to be ashamed to look any of you in the eye.”

Brod grunted angrily. “Says the guy makin’ a shitty habit of ditching training.”

I hadn’t missed a single morning or evening sparring session. The audacity of this man... “Master, would it kill you to be in a good mood before I leave?”

“I know where he’s coming from,” Galba said. “Give it some time and you’ll reach our level. Say, maybe a decade of hard training and you’ll be there.”

“If you’re optimistic, sure. You think normal people can vanish into thin air, reappear behind someone, and cut skin with dulled blades? You’re all insane.”

I’d never seen them fight, but I knew that went for Galba and Gulgar too. Was there no world of sunshine and rainbows where I could live peacefully?

“Your healing magic’s pretty nuts too, far as I can tell,” Gulgar said.

“My Holy Magic skill just reached level ten the other day, but I’ve still got a ways to go,” I confessed. “I’m frustrated with how I handled Bottaculli. I could have done so much more, but I just lectured him. Magic doesn’t solve everything. It can’t heal diseases. It can’t heal wounds of the mind.”

“Luciel,” Galba interjected, “that orphanage you founded wasn’t for nothing. You’ve made meaningful changes, and we’re going to make sure it doesn’t go to waste. Plus, I hear Bottaculli’s practically turned over a new leaf at the capital, so that’s one less thing you have to worry about.”

“True, but that wasn’t because of me, and apparently it only created conflict with the Church’s factions. At the end of the day, he changed because the archbishops broke down his walls and helped him open his heart. I only waved my stick around without really understanding what it means to have authority.”

There was no weight, no dignity or grace to my actions or words. Without those qualities, everything I did would fall flat, no matter how sincere I was.

“No shit,” Brod retorted point-blank. “You’re barely twenty. People like us have lived twice your lifespan, and you’re comparing yourself to us? You want people to take you seriously? Then ask for help. Learn from others and soak it in. Otherwise you’ll wind up another flunky shouting at the wind.”

“Sure, young people mess up,” Galba added. “But life’s not so simple that those mistakes define who you are. No one accidentally finds success. I think what you need to do is learn from this experience and grow.”

“Words carry weight, and that weight comes from the life of their speaker. Experience,” my master continued. “You don’t gotta act bigger than your shoes. Only person you need to impress is yourself. Live, fight, grow. That’s the way to be, but the way’s not always forward. Sometimes you need to stop, and that’s when you rely on us. None of us are perfect, none of us are alike, but we’re here for each other, even if we can’t make the tough choices for you. The second you feel yourself slipping, you come to us, and we’ll whip you back into shape. Don’t you dare try to take everything on by yourself. Understand?”

I was moved. Just moved.

“What he said. Now try my new invention!” Gulgar interjected.

“That’s a...unique smell.” I winced. “Wait, where is everyone going?”

I failed to see the connection between our discussion and Gulgar’s offer. As if I had a choice in the matter, although I liked to pretend I did.

“Luciel, would you mind being quick about it? My nose can’t take much more,” Galba groaned, visibly pained. He had only his brother to blame.

“Eat it already, or I’ll whoop your ass in our next fight!” Brod shouted.

Now that was just cruel. We were almost four hundred levels apart!

“Probably tastes like garbage, but you got it. Pull this off and I’ll give you the legendary secret sauce recipe left behind by one of the most famous chefs in the world!”

I was no match for these three and never would be, so I shut up and ate the darn doria (a creamy rice casserole dish infused with my least favorite substance). Never had I seen my life flash before my eyes after eating something until that moment.

“Anyway...” I collected myself. “Did you look into that curse I mentioned that’s overwriting crests? Any clues about who our shadowy culprit might be?”

Galba looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Bottaculli was stabbed by his butler. Don’t you remember?”

“What? That’s ridiculous. You must be overworking yourself.”

“Master, you know what I’m talking about, right?”

“Sorry, no way Galba wouldn’t catch wind of somethin’ like that,” he rumbled. “Why are you bringing up the guy’s injury again?”

Because I knew this would happen. “I mean, he was stabbed by one of his own slaves.”

“Sure, but it was an accident. The slave fell down the stairs with a knife in his hand, that’s all,” Galba said.

There was no question anymore. Their memories had been altered.

“Speakin’ of shadowy,” Gulgar cut in, “I hear that black-haired receptionist quit her job at the Healer’s Guild.”

“Yeah, she did,” I replied. “Something about trying life as an adventurer around the Holy City. Said she knows someone there, I think.”

Kururu had grown quite fond of Estia, so she hadn’t been open to the idea of letting her go. It’d taken a good deal of convincing.

“Almost feels like she’s on Bottaculli’s tail or somethin’,” my master remarked.

“Just don’t tell my team about it, okay?”

Estia’s polite and gentle demeanor was a far cry from the Valkyries, but she had nonetheless been an invaluable asset in keeping our morale high.

“Eh, I trained ’em up good. They’ll really be something once they learn to work off each other better.”

“I appreciate the help. Now, I should head off early. I want to stop by the orphanage.”

“Let’s do this again sometime, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

I enjoyed drinking with everyone, don’t get me wrong, but my thoughts were racing with this mysterious mind-alterer.

I strolled along the moonlit road towards Bottaculli’s manor-turned-orphanage. The funds earned from selling his possessions had been used to buy back as many of the people he’d enslaved as possible, but there were too many beyond our reach. The only solace we could take was in the children we’d given a home to.

Loyalists from the Church had distributed additional guidelines for solo healers as well. As for me, I was still getting over the shyness from being in a news article. It made me hopeful about the future of the public’s impression of healers, though. Hopeful that one day we’d see more healers in Adventurer’s Guilds.

The clinics of Merratoni were now all operating under my guidelines and charging their prices accordingly. And although I’d gotten chewed out via arclink for diverting guild income to form a fund for slaves, I was proud of the changes in this town and of the improving relationship between the people and the healers. So much of it had been brought about by individuals and ideas beyond myself, and the entire experience had turned out to be one big human (and beastfolk) experiment, highlighting our differences, our similarities, and our difficulties with understanding each other.

It brought tears to my eyes, thinking about all those I’d surely hurt, or at the very least inconvenienced, with my incompetence, but who still spoke to me with kindness. I wanted to learn to be proud of myself some day. To believe in myself the way others did.

I recalled the way my chest had started to ache lately whenever I opened maps of any kind. Like the Eternal Dragons were calling to me, summoning me to their prisons. But it was everything I could do to get by where I was now, let alone go labyrinth hunting. Conquering another dungeon, to say nothing of slaying dragons, with the little strength I’d earned since my first encounter was a pipe dream.

Still, the ache was there.

I sighed. Those poor dragons. If only I were wiser, more daring, or more courageous, maybe I could be the hero the Holy Dragon needed me to be. Why had he chosen me, anyway?

I wasn’t going to find the answer to that question. All I could do was pray that the path I chose going forward was the right one. So I made a decision. Living a peaceful life and dying of old age was no longer my only goal. I wanted to save people from suffering, rescue every life I possibly could, and to do that, I needed to travel the world. I was ready.

Months came and went, my guidelines were passed into law, and all the guilds and clinics of the world learned the new rules.